Free Jerry Langton Three-Book Biker Bundle by Jerry Langton

alone in the empty bar except for his equally robust pal Pete Mulligan. They looked very much the same—big men with even bigger bellies. Both had mustaches, buzz cuts, thick necks, and powerful tattooed arms. Mulligan laughed.
    â€œHey, Pat,” said Ned with a forced jocularity. “You know what I’m here for.”
    â€œNo, what?”
    â€œAndré’s money,” Ned said, hoping that the mention of who was actually getting paid would help make Wells comply.
    â€œAndré’s money? I don’t know any André. You know any Andrés, Pete?”
    Mulligan shook his head.
    â€œC’mon, Pat, why do you have to put me through this song and dance every week?” Ned whined. “You get your product on time, don’t ya?”
    â€œListen to this little fuck coming into my place and telling me what I can and can not do,” Wells was yelling so loud and so fast that gob-bets of saliva orbited his head. “That’s not a very wise move on your part, you little shit.”
    â€œNo it ain’t,” piped in Mulligan.
    â€œAll I know is that André expects his cash.”
    â€œAll you know? You don’t know shit.”
    They stood there, all four of them, staring at each other. Ned was at a loss. There was no logic to what Wells was saying, nothing Ned could work on. It was pure macho bullshit. Worse than that—it was psychopathic. The man wanted product and didn’t see any reason why he had to pay for it. That made negotiations difficult.
    Wells broke the silence. “Listen, you little bag of shit, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said while piling up a stack of bills which, to Ned’s eye, appeared short of what he owed. “I’ll stand beside you over there, and if you can grab the money before I do, it’s yours.”
    Mulligan laughed stupidly.
    â€œWhat are you talking about? The money is André’s.”
    â€œAndré ain’t here—but you and I are.”
    â€œThis is bullshit.”
    â€œDo you want your money or not?”
    â€œI want André’s money.”
    â€œThen come and get it, you little shit.”
    Out of options, Ned lunged at the stack. As he leapt, Wells thrust both fists into his ribs. Ned toppled over a barstool and fell to the ground. Wells then ran over and kicked him in the gut. Then he grabbed the collar of Ned’s shirt and his belt, dragged him over to the door, and threw him into the parking lot.
    He came back and stood in Leo’s face. “What do you have to say, faggot?” Leo said nothing, just ran out the door. Wells and Mulligan laughed.
    Once outside, Leo helped his friend to the Hor-ni’s passenger seat and got into the driver’s seat. He asked Ned for the keys.
    â€œYou gonna be okay?” Leo asked his friend as he started the car. “Do you need to go to a hospital or something?”
    â€œNo, no, no, I’ll be okay,” he said.
    They both laughed. Ned instructed Leo to drive him to André’s. Leo, still pining for a little free weed, grinned.
    André sighed after they told him the story. “I know I told you not to come to me with this type of problem, but I’m actually glad you did,” he said. “If this sort of thing gets out, nobody will ever feel like they have to pay you and that would reflect very badly on me.”
    He lit a joint and Leo sighed contentedly. “I just can’t allow this to happen,” he continued. “And, luckily, I have a solution.”
    He led them down into the basement, passing Leo the joint. André instructed the boys to move the couch about a foot back. Then he lifted up the rug. Underneath it was a trapdoor that opened to reveal a small, deep storage space. In it, Ned could see some little glass vials with maroon rubber tops and red buckets full of yellow and white tablets. Ned hadn’t passed either chemistry or biology, but he knew what they were